


The School of Monsters (working title)

by Lana_the_salty_banana



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Dullahan - Freeform, Fantasy, Monster - Freeform, Pilot Story, graphic death, sfw, some body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lana_the_salty_banana/pseuds/Lana_the_salty_banana
Summary: This was a passion project I've been working on all week, and I'm really happy with it. It sort of got spawned from the Witcher hype and is a combination of inspiration from that as well as Bloodborne. I'm excited to see what comes of it, and I definitely want to write more with it. Also, feel free to give any constructive criticism.
Kudos: 5





	The School of Monsters (working title)

Most towns had minor problems. Crops would get infections, wolves would eat livestock, rats would overrun much of the grain fields, rather normal things. They would ask those among them who would hunt or fight to assist in those matters, or if it was beyond their capabilities, ask for the aid of soldiers or guards from their holds.

Sadly, the knights and soldiers were often stretched so thin with larger tasks that mercenaries and bounty hunters would be required for these tasks. Most of them were reasonable, some were expensive, but worth it, others were expensive but not worth it. However, even these soldiers of fortune had limits, especially with very particular problems.

If someone was kidnapped in the middle of the night, it was often a simple task of hiring someone to find them. But when that someone would return to the village, their innards removed and replaced with vines that writhed and yearned for more…well, let’s just say, word like that travels quickly, even from a nowhere village.

Whispers. It always starts as whispers. Worries and fears spread around the taverns, which makes its way to the guards, then to the travelers. From there it travels like wildfire, swift, yet silent, along the roads and through the wind itself. Making its way to larger cities, to the guards there, and further along…always whispers.

And with whispers…came them. They traveled in silence and secrecy, even in the burning sun of noon, they seemed to be invisible. When whispers of monsters could be heard, of the supernatural acting out, they came. Often times, those who were afflicted didn’t even know they had arrived until they made their presence known. The good ones would walk into the center of the town with the head of their kill, waiting in silence until payment came.

The best ones, you would never even know they were there. They came, secured their kill, and collected their pay, all in silence and obscurity. But then, there were the unique ones. There were no such things as bad ones, but there were ones that loved to have their presence known. To have villagers and warriors glance at them in fear and awe. These ones, they were a unique breed.

They were called ‘Whisps’ in honor of the very whispers that would bring them to towns and villages. They never revealed what they were truly called, choosing to simply exist by the very names that were made to be in fear of them…and they didn’t mind. These Whisps were beyond humanity, yet they weren’t quite monsters…yet. They were not chosen or recruited, or so they claimed, they were born. From before their birth, trained in the womb of their mothers, how this is done, they never divulge, if they even truly know.

And the training continued. Conditioning, training, both mental and physical, magical and intellectual, open combat and stealth, nothing was left out. And it showed, whenever a Whisp engaged in combat, it was unlike anything seen. Magic at the tips of their fingers and tongues, their swords like reeds in the wind, yet hitting with the force of a falling hammer. Few could keep up with their movements, and fewer still could match them, if any.

Save for monsters. Monsters, the very things for which Whisps were made, so they said. Normal humans could not engage monsters, unless they were extremely lucky or magical, and even then. Monsters plagued lands so infrequently that many doubted their existence, yet whenever one showed its face or faces, they learned the truth.

And then the Whisps. The whispers brought them, the whispers summon them, they are that which they are, which is simply…whispers.

____________________

“Did you hear? Another one killed last night. That’s what, ten mercenaries now?” The large man at the bar sighed as he drank down his mug, the mead tasting dry in his mouth.

“Quiet. And its twelve, this is not good in the slightest.” His companion, a grizzled woman with burn scars across her forearms, trailing all the way presumably, up the rest of her arms, to her face. “I hate it as much as you do, but no one else here is a fighter, you don’t want…one of them to show up…do you?”

The man stiffened and looked down at his mug. It wasn’t empty, but he was most certainly done drinking. “No. But…I’d rather have one show up and be done with that damn…thing, then have to keep sending these men and women to their deaths. Plus, they always ask for payment upfront, and we’re just about broke now.”

The woman sighed in turn, look up at the nearly empty wall in front of her. “I know. I fear that if we can’t get it killed soon, then we’ll have to leave the village. I know it’s not easy, but it would have to be necessary.”

“I wouldn’t quite say that.” The duo turned to the voice behind them, the woman sitting at the table smirking beneath her hood. The two villagers looked at her with curiosity, the strange woman’s smirk still staying on her lips. “Leaving the village would only be necessary if I don’t kill it, which, my friends, won’t happen.” The woman stood up, setting a single coin on the table as she turned and made her way to the door of the bar.

“Wait. You can’t be serious. If you’ve been paying attention, then you know its no hope. Do you even know what you’re up against?” The woman stood as she turned to the stranger, her large figure being rather imposing. The stranger turned her head slightly, a menacing aura emanating from her. The woman froze as she looked at the stranger, while she was taller and wider, the stranger had this…aspect, about her.

“Believe me, you two have given me all the information I didn’t already have. That Dullahan won’t be a problem for you. And a word of advice, never pay anyone upfront. If they ask for it, then they either don’t have enough faith in their abilities and will run, or they severely underestimate what they’re up against.”

“And what of you?” The man stayed seated, not wanting to incite whatever caused his companion to freeze as she did.

“I never underestimate. Besides, I’ll gather my payment off their bodies, so no need to worry.” She gave another sly smirk before turning her head back and walking out the door, the sword on her back swaying slightly from her movements, the daggers at her hips jangling gently, and her heavy satchel dangling from her hips with her necessary bits and bobbles. As she opened the door to the outside, her blackened leather armor had a slight sheen about it, worn, scuffed, and her hood looking in the same worn, yet cared for condition.

“Do you think…” The man looked to his companion, who, much to his surprise, was still standing in shock, but no longer frozen.

“Don’t worry…I’m going to head to the forge, I think she’ll want an additional form of payment.” The woman sighed as she did what she said she would. Exiting the tavern, and watching the stranger walk off towards the edge of the village. The dark clouds overhead flashing with lightning, a roll of thunder, and then a single drop of rain landed on her before more quickly followed. The woman shivered, in a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite place, but it all stemmed from one thing. “It always starts with whispers.”

_____

The stranger traveled for some time, not extremely long, nor extremely far, but a good ways off from the village. The path was not beaten nor obvious, why would it be, water dripping into dips and the remnants of footprints. Evidence of where previous victims entered was plenty, but nothing showing where they had left, not surprising her in the slightest. She smiled as she continued on her way, moving with an unnatural elegance for one built as she was, yet at the same time, it was strong and powerful.

She came to a small brook, kneeling down to examine the water. She could see her reflection clearly through the crystalline water. Her almond skin, a small scar across her chin, going up to her jawline and ending right below her left ear, seemed to be darker than it was beneath her hood. Her green eyes shining only brighter because of it. The wavy locks of her hair were hidden away behind her head, but a few strands snuck their way out, hanging across her cheeks and face.

“Beautiful as always.” She smiled at her reflection, before reaching down and touching the water. “Warm…odd.” She looked up to where the brook was originating, standing to her feet and making her way up-stream. The rain causing the brook to run deeper and harder, thunder rumbling slightly as the sky lit up once more. She slowly and silently ducked beneath branches, stepped over logs, with the same inhuman grace that made her look like a specter.

She checked the brook again, dipping her hand into the water, feeling the warmth. “Warmer...literally.” She cupped a handful and lifted it to her lips, taking a quick taste before spitting it out. “Vile.” She had tasted poisoned water many times before, and water that had been spoiled from many…unsavory things, this tasted like one of those things. She knew she had to have been getting closer, the rain should have washed away most poisonings, unless it was something incredibly larger or especially deadly.

As she made her way around a particularly dense thicket, she stopped as she felt the fumes assault her. “Ugh. Poor sods.” The woman looked down at the corpses of the mercenaries, soldiers of fortune, whatever they liked to be called. For the most part, they were in pristine condition, save for the slow rotting of their flesh, fouling the brook they were laying across. The one oddity is their paleness, no blood dripping in or around them. If she had to guess, their blood had been drained from their bodies, be it from a vampire, or perhaps…

It was then she saw the water building up behind the corpses. “A damn…wonder why?” Lightning flashed overhead, and a crack of thunder echoed through the small clearing she was in. She smirked as she pulled her head back, and with a brief swish of air, a shining mirror of metal stuck into the tree mere inches from her face. The tree groaned and creaked, splinters exploding out from the back and sides, the bark crumbling beneath the force of the blade thrown at her. She chuckled as she stepped back, looking at the broadsword that was aimed to run her skull through.

“Quick reflexes.” The corpses on the ground spoke, and she looked past the sword to the disembodied head. Of course, it was far from disembodied, for its body was several feet away, having just thrown the sword.

“Not quite. It was painfully obvious it was a trap. If you had wanted to be left alone, then you would have buried the bodies and left a better symbol to be left alone.” The woman smiled as she leaned down, grabbed the head by the hair and in one swift motion, tossed it to the body.

The body was quick to react, catching the head and placing it upon its glowing neck. The connection was solid, yet still quite visible, as the Dullahan stepped from the shade. They were male, their body built much like her own, strong, muscular, yet also lithe and flexible. His wide shoulders carried an intimidating presence, as even without his head he would have stood a foot or more over the average mercenary, and taller still over an average commoner. He wore simple studded armor, his left side mostly left bare.

“I did want peace and quiet. But after all these attacks, I figured to hell with it.” He smirked, his skin cracking as his mouth seemed to split wider and wider, his eyes becoming blanker and blanker. “So, given I can’t have some damn peace and quiet. I guess these villagers should learn what true fear is.”

The woman tilted her head to the side and slightly back, a slight chuckle escaping her parted lips. “Is that so? Well, I’ll tell you this, I’m not as easy as these hired hands were. So, you best-” before the words left her mouth the Dullahan rushed her, swinging another sword he had seeming claimed from his back, down at her. She was fast, grabbing the sword that was already at her head from the tree and lifting it up to block the strike.

“Impressive. Your reflexes are the best I’ve seen so far. But how is your strength?” He pulled the sword back and in another swift motion swung it down on her. The impact clanged loudly, bending both swords as she squinted her eyes at him, blocking the strike with relative ease.

He pulled his sword back again, but this time ducking low to strike at her exposed stomach. she lowered the sword to match, the clanging of metal to metal echoing through the woods, she was almost certain those back at the village could have heard it.

The Dullahan grunted in annoyance, his smirk diminishing only slightly as he dropped his dented sword and backed away quickly. On his retreat, with a speed that no mortal eyes could follow, he grabbed a hand ax from behind him and threw it at her. She dropped the broadsword, which had bent fully in half from the impacts, and raised a hand, moving her head to the side and catching the ax, her face like stone.

“Hmph. Lucky catch. Let’s see how you handle this.” From his back, she was sure he either had some sort of magical bag or he had just pierced the weapons into his body for quick access, he pulled a greatsword in his left hand and a short sword in his right hand.

“Compensating for something?” She smirked as he scowled, before leaping at her. He brought his short sword down on her first, aiming to follow up with the greatsword, probably to cleave her in two. Yet she was faster than he expected. She sidestepped the first sword, and as the second descended, she twisted around it, coming around his body and raising the ax she still held in her hand. She brought it down on his back, right between his shoulder blades. He hissed, whether in pain or annoyance, she wasn’t sure, but with the blade most definitely embedded, she grabbed tight and pulled hard, throwing him away from her by the blade still embedded inside of his back.

“I feel I handled that just fine.” She smiled down at the Dullahan, ready for whatever he was going to throw at her next. The fight was quick, yet that wasn’t to say it wasn’t good, well, it all depends on your perspective. In the blink of an eye, a flash of lightning, and a crack of thunder, she was pinned to a tree, the greatsword going through her and out the other side of the tree.

“Yes…you did~” She looked down at the sword impaling her with wide eyes, a small gasp leaving her lips as she grabbed at the handle. The Dullahan chuckled as he stood up, walked over and kicked the sword deeper into her, pinning the cross guard against her torso, and making a few audible cracks in her ribs. The tree groaned loudly, splintering from the back, bark and wood exploding from the end of the blade, blood covering its length.

She coughed, blood trickling from her lips as she looked up with bloodshot eyes, before falling forward, her arms falling to her side, the life leaving her. “I’ll admit, you definitely put up a better fight than the others did. Shame you just didn’t stand a chance.”

He held her head up, her lifeless eyes glazed and distant. He scoffed as he let her head drop and moved to grab the sword that was strapped across her back. The sheathed blade came free with a tug, the straps snapping with little effort for him. He looked it over, it was rather long but surprisingly light for a blade of its length.

He smirked, his crack face bending in twisted bemusement as he went to undo the straps holding the blade in. The rain was finally letting up, as it had been for the past several weeks, the pouring water becoming light sprinkling as he finally managed to undo the straps. “What good is a sword if-” he stopped, hearing a light rustling behind him.

He turned his head…without the rest of his body, to look at the body of the dead woman. He swore she heard her move, but as he looked closer, he saw her legs had splayed further apart. “Guess she wasn’t as dead as I thought. Shame would have loved to get my dick wet like with that last whore.” The Dullahan let out a sickening, gravelly, yet wet chuckle.

He turned his head back to the front, looking down at the sword. He pulled it out of the sheath and let out a tiny gasp of curiosity. “Never seen one like this.” The blade, while fairly simple, with a fuller down the length of the blade, and an inward curve near the crossguard, didn’t seem like much at first. But it was the material that was shocking. Never in his long life, or unlife, as he liked to refer to it as had he seen a blade made of obsidian. The black crystal being both opaque, but also seemed like a diamond in nature, light reflecting off and within it in crystalline patterns.

“Why would you ever need a sword like this?” He wrapped his hand around the grip, holding the sword straight up, examining the blade. The point seemed to shimmer as water dripped down its length. Running in droplets down the blade, and over the crossguard, and to the pommel, which, from what he could tell, was one, solid, carved piece of obsidian.

“Obsidian…is an excellent…conduit for…magic…and soul…storage.” The Dullahan froze, his eyes going wide, as he slowly turned his head, this time with the rest of his body. The woman, still impaled on the tree, lifted her head slowly, her lips parting in a crooked smile, almost mocking of his own. He opened his mouth to speak but merely gasped as the sword shook in his hand.

The blade flew up, slashing him across the chest, causing him to hiss in pain. The sword, now glowing with a slight greenish tinge, flew to her, floating with the blade pointing to the sky, about a foot from her. A green miasma started to emit from the blade, energy beginning to float into her body. The Dullahan stood dumbfounded, unable to form words, or even react.

With a malicious grin, she placed her hands on the tree behind her and pushed. With a sound that no mortal or immortal being should hear, she pulled herself off the blade. Her torso caving in, bones and organs collapsing as she pulled herself past the cross guard of the greatsword pinning her to the tree. Without a sound, she moved further up the sword, the Dullahan taking a step back in shock and fear.

Her body continued to push past, the only sounds being the crunching of bones, the squelching of organs, and the dripping of blood. Finally, after what felt an hour of agonizing horror, she fully came past the pommel of the sword. Blood and writhing bits of flesh hung to the sword, a clear hole in the middle of her body, constantly dripping with blood, her feet squishing with her blood in the rain-soaked ground.

She opened her mouth wider, but the only thing to come out was blood, in almost a river. “What…are you?” She tilted her head, and let out a gurgling grunt, and her eyes furrowed as if she was annoyed. She looked down at her gaping chest, and her shoulders lowered, she was most certainly annoyed.

She held up a finger, telling the Dullahan to wait, and all he could do was stand in bewilderment. She raised her hands to her chest, the green mist flowing from the sword growing thicker as tendrils of energy flowed through her hands into her body. Right before the Dullahan’s eyes, her body started to reform, the bits of flesh, blood, and bone evaporating to mist, slowly flowing into her body.

The hole in her chest began to close. Starting from the deepest point, with her beating heart. Her lungs followed soon after, then her ribcage, and finally her skin. The Dullahan was utterly shocked by the entire ordeal, having no idea what to do or how to react, he was just…horrified.

She lifted her head after the magic finished its work. Surprisingly, while her body was reformed near flawlessly, her armor still had a large hole in it, showing her bare skin beneath. “That’s better. What I was trying to say, is that it should be obvious what I am.” She reached out and grabbed her blade, the obsidian shimmering from her touch, a small green light pulsing within.

“I only know of one creature with that kind of magic…and you’re no necromancer.” The Dullahan stepped away, reaching back to pull the ax embedded between his shoulders, readying it in his hand. He was shaking, the skin on his body running pale, and his face contorted in an undeniable expression of fear. He wanted to run, but his pride wouldn’t let him.

She smiled, spinning the sword as she approached him. “You’re right, I’m no necromancer. The magic is that of a Lich. But I’m not entirely a Lich. I was made from the essence of one, so I was born dead, in a way, but I wasn’t exactly born.” She smirked as she took a step to him, rather aggressively, making him jump slightly in fear.

“I was made. In a school, hidden away from the world.” He froze, the voice coming from behind him, and as he turned, she was right there, smiling. He jumped away, falling onto his rear, but quickly getting to his feet, his undead heart thumping like a stampeding jungle. “I’m a Whisp, little Dullahan. You only got that hit on me, because I was bored, and, more importantly.” She spun her sword in front of her, however, it wasn’t in her hands, it was floating, green energy emitting from it in a smoke-like aura. “I figured you should know what true fear is~”

With that, she jumped through her sword. Her body disappearing in a puff of smoke, as she reappeared beside him, her daggers drawn and slicing at him. While they easily broke the skin, they didn’t do any true harm to him. He yelped in shock as he raised his ax to try and block her, or attack her, but her movements were unlike before.

They were faster, much faster than should have been possible. Sharper, and with more focused purpose. He managed to block a single strike from her dagger, but to his dismay, the ax shattered from her strength. It was then it hit him. She had been toying with him, not even coming close to showing what she was truly capable of. THIS was a Whisp, the one thing that every monster feared, even if they couldn’t think beyond that of a simple beast.

“Scared? Don’t worry, it will be over soon.” Her voice was not the same light, almost foolhardy tone from earlier, now it was much colder and serious. She changed, this was her true nature, everything else was just a façade. She slashed at his chest with the daggers again, and as the Dullahan backed away, he felt a burning.

He looked down, the wounds on his chest sizzling and bleeding. He clutched at his chest, looking to her as his eyes went wide. Her daggers, which were remarkable large at first, had shrunken down considerably but were now gold. “H-how?”

“Simple magic. Turning one metal into another. In this case, hardened steel to gold, because that’s the only natural thing that can harm a Dullahan.” She smiled, spinning the daggers in her hands as she rushed him. He couldn’t escape, he had no hope, all he could do was raise his hands. She moved swiftly and without mercy, cutting his hands off with perfected ease, slicing his arms at the elbows to push his arms aside.

To his surprise, she didn’t immediately stab into his head and kill him. Instead, she moved close, punting him beneath his chin and sending his head flying into the sky. Her hands moved with speed and ferocity that simply could not be described as she brought the daggers down on his body. Stabbing deep into his chest and flaying his chest open. With wide swings, she managed to break apart his ribcage, revealing his still-beating heart.

She quickly sheathed her daggers, holding her hand out behind her as her sword came flying to her grip. She spun it around, the magic miasma floating around the blade. However, as she spun it, it swiftly turned from green to red, the magic fire burning brightly. She brought the sword down, stabbing into his heart and the fire burned even brighter.

Her face was stone and blank as she burned his body to ashes, yanking her sword and shaking it clean. She lifted her hand and caught the Dullahan’s head, smirking at him as his eyes were wide and his jaw hanging in shock. “So…impressed?”

“Why?”

She chuckled as she dropped his head, but it hovered in the air, suspended by the green mist. She went to the corpses from earlier and began to search them. Quickly finding the bags of coins and checking them briefly. “If I had wanted you dead, you never would have known I was here. I’m after something more…important.”

“A-and what would that be?” The Dullahan stammered as the Whisp grabbed the sheath for her sword, the blade flying into it as she strapped it to her back. With the bags of coin in hand and the Dullahan’s head in tow, she started to make her way back to the village.

“If I told you, that would ruin all the fun. Let’s just say…whispers, attract more than my kind.” She looked to him and let out a smirk, but said nothing more as she continued through the woods, holding onto his head by his messy hair. He said nothing else, figuring that the only way he would live, would be to keep his mouth shut…though if he still had a heart, it would be beating impossibly fast.

_____

The sky had finally started clear, after weeks, or maybe it had been months, no one was truly sure. But with the sun starting to shine down, many townsfolk started to step outside their homes for the first time in a long while. Many looked around, trying to make sense, while others were simply just happy to see the sun again.

But through the silence of the morning sun, a consistent, and loud metal clanging could be heard. In the forge near the middle of the town, the large woman was busy pulling the gallows and shaping the blade. She felt…almost possessed. Never had she stayed all through the night making a blade, and never one the likes of this.

At first glance, it was simple, a broadsword, solid all the way through to the pommel. While there was a very slight fuller, barely an indent in the blade, the crossguard was unique, to her at least, in that it curved into the blade, only slightly, but just enough. After putting her final shapes to the blade, she gripped the end of the blade with her tongs, holding them in one hand, while she grabbed a long strip of leather with the other.

With expertise that only came from years of work, she pushed the tip of the leather strip to the still red-hot metal. With a hiss, it started to burn, and she quickly wrapped the leather around the heft, forming the grip of the sword. The burnt leather stung her nostrils, but she barely took note of it. With that final piece of the sword done, she dropped it into a trough of rainwater.

Steam rose into the air as she looked down at the cooling sword. After about a minute, she reached her hand down into the hot water and pulled the sword out, inspecting the blade. While it wasn’t shiny by any means, she still admired her handiwork. The broadsword was thicker and heavier than any sword she would dare make for its size, but she knew, that for the Whisp, it wouldn’t feel any different.

She grabbed the tip of the blade with her other hand, and slowly applied pressure. Pulling the blade into her chest, trying to bend it. She had allowed the blade to cool almost entirely overnight, keeping vigil on it, and this last time heating and flash cooling it. While admittedly, she may have damaged the integrity of the blade, it was holding up perfectly, even with her full strength. “Perfect.” She removed her burned hand from the blade, reaching down to the scabbard she had made and sheathed the blade.

“Malota.” She turned her head, a young woman with strong forearms holding on the beam holding the roof up. “She’s back…and she brought its head.” Malota nodded to her apprentice as she took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders as she left her forge, sword in hand.

The rest of the town had begun to gather around the small well in the center of town. While it wasn’t used for water much recently, it was a regular place for people to meet, converse, and gather. The Whisp was there, standing as she looked around at the crowd, the head of the Dullahan in her hand, and a mysterious hole in the center of her leather armor.

“Who is in charge?” Her voice sounded…different. Malota shivered, it was deep, yet light, threatening, yet also soothing. She was not human, but not quite a monster…not yet.

“I am. We met yesterday, in the tavern. I am Malota, blacksmith, and speaker for the townsfolk. What is your price?” The Whisp smiled as she tossed several tied bags to Malota. They jostled loudly as Malota looked down at the coin purses from the several men and women the town had paid to try and kill the Dullahan.

“I don’t ask for anything.” That only seemed to make Malota more uneasy. But nonetheless, she knew what she needed to do. She tossed the sword to the Whisp, who caught it without hesitation or any effort of it weighing more than a feather.

“I know you don’t ask but consider this a simple thank you. You’ve saved our town much hardship, where not even the church would lift an eye to us.” That…maybe she shouldn’t have said that.

The Whisp raised her eyes from the sword to Malota, the dull green iris’s becoming bright, misty emerald. Malota gulped, as did her apprentice beside her, the smaller woman stepping back behind her taller, and wider, master. “The church…” The Whisp stopped halfway into a word, but she stopped, as if a thought came to her, making her second guess her words.

She closed her mouth, before letting go of the sword. Instead of dropping to the ground, it hovered where it was let go, causing many townsfolk to murmur and whisper. The Whisp took some rope from her satchel, tying it around the Dullahan’s head and hanging it above the well. She slapped him, and he yelped, causing many townsfolk to scream and back away, they had assumed him dead, and rightfully so.

“You will be their lookout. If ever you betray them, I’m sure they wouldn’t hesitate to drop your immortal head down this well.” The Dullahan merely looked at her, unblinking, unspeaking, but his blank eyes showed that he would listen and obey.

She nodded, grabbing the sword from the air and stepped down from the well. The crowd parted as she made her way from the gathering. Many people looked at her in awe, some with fear, but none with hatred. Malota, she merely looked on in confusion. “Wait…what is your name, Whisp?”

She stopped, turning her head to look back at Malota. “Illasanda. And I would suggest forgetting it. Afterall…” she turned as she slowly walked out of town, “It’s hard to remember whispers.” Malota watched the Whisp leave, she finally recognized her accent. It wasn’t common for Solerans to come to this part of the world, but nonetheless, here she was.

“Wait…Illasanda.” Malota stepped forward as the rest of the townsfolk stayed behind. She continued walking as Malota called to her. “Thank you…and don’t worry…”

Illasanda continued on her way, her head low and her face somber. And she spoke, no louder than a light whisper, barely heard even by herself. “I’m sorry.”


End file.
